


Magnificence

by alltoseek



Category: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Clothing Porn, F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, Millie is her own person, Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Young Love, oblivious!Christopher, obnoxious!Christopher, post Conrad's Fate era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek
Summary: The Christmas after Millie started at her new school was her first opportunity to attend a real ball. Best of all, Christopher was to attend as her escort.





	Magnificence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Care](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Care/gifts), [panpipe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panpipe/gifts).



> For both Care and Panpipe for their very similar prompts:
> 
> Panpipe: I ask for this LITERALLY EVERY YEAR because literally I will ALWAYS be satisfied with a story about Christopher and Millie. Them coming to terms with their feelings, them falling in love, them realizing they’re in love, them having their first fight but getting over it... Whatever your heart desires I am sure I will love it. I am specifically looking for fic either around The Lives of Christopher Chant or Conrad's Fate eras. 
> 
> Care: My favorite is Christopher, because who doesn’t love a vain, vague, slightly obnoxious moron? But my absolute favorite has to be that Millie is one of the only people in the Related Worlds who can take him down a peg. I also adore the fact that Christopher respects Millie so much. I’d love a story about the two of them getting together.
> 
> I hope you both do enjoy this!
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Many love and much thanks to my delightful betas feroxargentea and alcyone as they follow my muse's whiplash from one delicious fandom to another :D <3

The Christmas after Millie started at her new school was her first opportunity to attend a real ball. She had gathered that Christmas was the main celebration for the dominant heathen god worshipped in these parts. Holding a ball, bringing a tree inside, feasting, and exchanging gifts seemed to be among the central traditions for celebrating the birth of their pagan god.

Millie had learned that the others didn't like their god to be referred to as pagan or heathen, even though it obviously was. Take this holiday, for example. How did one mark the birth of a god? Gods weren't born, they existed from the Beginning. They created – well, Creation. Everything. Then someone tried to explain about how in this religion there were three gods yet only one god. “Christ” was one of the three, son of another one, who was the one from the Beginning and Created Everything. This sort of made sense but when she asked why they celebrated the birth of the son and not the all-mighty power of the main god they said that actually they were all one.

At this point Millie stopped asking questions, because it just made people angry. Her arguments and lack of understanding of these people's religion was one of the things that caused so much trouble for her at her first school. She supposed it was the kind of religion you had to be born and raised up in to understand. In addition, she could understand the anger when she questioned their religion. Religion was one of those things that got people angry. Take Asheth. Her Arm had followed Millie from world to world and Series to Series and was only placated by gaining a life. When Millie would disclose this part (it was really hard not to, it was how she ended up in an entirely different Series, after all) the others would explain that the “Christ” they celebrated on Christmas sacrificed his own life for all of humanity. Evidently he had only the one, although there was another very confusing part about Resurrection that was celebrated in the spring holidays with eggs and rabbits. Millie was even more confused about that one, though fortunately – but oddly – the birth celebration was apparently more important than the death and rebirth one. Millie could respect the sacrifice of his life. For it to have benefitted millions of people (instead of a periodic ritual for one goddess) the life sacrificed would need to have been that of a very powerful god.

Millie learned not to talk about Asheth, although it was difficult to say anything about her own childhood without raising the subject. She didn't worry about the non-believers who preferred their incomprehensible heathen three-in-one god. Asheth could – and would – look after her own.

In any case, dancing, feasting, and gifts seemed a sensible way to celebrate, whatever it was you were celebrating, so Millie had no trouble with that. The cutting of a tree and decorating it, then discarding it like so much trash afterwards was bizarre, and struck her as very pagan (likewise the eggs and rabbits – pagan symbols of fertility – that were involved in Easter). Then she remembered something about the Christ sacrifice being conducted on a cross made from wood. “Does the tree symbolise the crucifixion?” she'd asked, before she'd learned the wisdom of not asking anything. In fact, it might have been the response to this question that finally taught her to simply nod her head and agree whenever any kind of religion was discussed, and never bring up the subject herself. For example, the Christ worshippers insisted that Jesus (his other name, or maybe his one name, and Christ was his title, except there was only one holder of the Christ title ever. It was one of the questions Millie thought of  _ after _ she'd learned not to ask) had only one life, despite coming back after his death. In addition he had not even been an enchanter, although he'd worked quite large conjurations, healings, and transmutations. Millie was convinced that he'd been a nine-lifed enchanter who had evaded the Chrestomanci role. When Chrestomanci overheard her explication of this theory to Christopher, he mentioned that in Christ's time the Chrestomanci role had not been established. So then Millie though perhaps the Christ role was Jesus' attempt to implement a kind of Chrestomanci. And in each world he visited, he sacrificed another life, thus explaining how he'd come to be worshipped in so many. But both Christopher and Chrestomanci seemed dubious about this, believing instead that the Worlds split off after various events that had occurred in the nearly two thousand years since Christ Jesus lived.

Anyway, the point was that Millie had gathered the significance and importance of Christmas over the past several years she'd lived in 12A. This year was to be the most wonderful yet, as her school was hosting a magnificent ball. Best of all, she was allowed to invite Christopher to attend as her escort.

She spent most of the day of the ball in preparation. She couldn't quite bring herself to believe in this heathen god, but she could respect and honour the celebration by dressing as magnificently as possible. Earlier she and her friends had been permitted a shopping trip to purchase a suitable ball gown. Chrestomanci assured her that she had plenty of money to spend on whichever dress she deemed most appropriate for the occasion. It took some searching, but finally she found was she wanted: a [gown](http://p3.storage.canalblog.com/36/52/1056241/86086473.jpg) with long billowing sleeves and a floor-length skirt in heavy, stiff, brilliant gold materials the dressmaker called moire silk and peau satin. The bodice was studded with crystals, as were several panels that draped over the wide skirt.

In a word, gorgeous. Magnificently gorgeous. Almost something worthy of the living incarnation of Asheth (which she wasn't any more, but this was a similar occasion, yes?). The other girls gaped with wide eyes when they saw what she selected. Some smiled, and some seemed to hide their smiles and giggles behind their hands. One girl – one who Millie had thought was her closest friend at school – even tried to talk her out of it, but Millie was having none of it. Millie decided they were all jealous. Much of the bullying she'd endured at her previous school stemmed from jealousy, she'd learned. Chrestomanci had had a severe talk with the headmistress and matrons at her new school, and there would be no tolerance of any bullying behaviour here. (He'd also had a long talk with Millie, about how to avoid evoking jealous feelings, but that didn't apply here. The other girls simply did not have the experience of dressing for high formal occasions. Possibly they couldn't afford such a gown either, in which case Millie should take care not to outshine them, but some of the other girls did go on about how much they spent on this dress or that pair of shoes, and Millie knew that the cost, even though quite steep, was not the issue here.)  


It wasn't getting dressed that took so much time the day of the ball. Millie had also to do her hair and her makeup. Although her friends all had lovely hairdos themselves, none of them seemed to understand how Millie wanted to do hers up – had to, for the proper effect.

Despite spending the entire afternoon on her hair, make-up, jewellery and accoutrements (using discreet but copious amounts of magic to substitute for knowledgeable assistants), Millie was early to the entrance hall pentagram, anxiously awaiting Christopher. She spared some attention for the other girls, all of whom were dressed beautifully, but none so stunning as herself.

Christopher arrived promptly, to Millie's delight, but though she was standing quite near, his eyes seemed to dismiss her at the briefest glance as he searched the among the crowd in the hall. She took hold of his arm to gain his attention. He did a double-take and stepped back, almost pulling away from her. Millie supposed that was to take in the whole effect of her ensemble.

“Good Lord,” he exclaimed, upon beholding the vision she presented. “You can't possibly expect me to be seen with you looking like that!”

“It's all right, Christopher,” she said kindly. “You look very handsome.”

“I know, but you look ghastly,” he replied. “What on earth have you done to your face? You look like –” he cut off his first thought as it was entirely inappropriate. He groped for a comment his mother had made on occasion “– like an old dowager trying to seem young again. But you  _ are _ young, Millie.” With a wave of his hand he undid hours of labour on her makeup. “See? You have a lovely, smooth, clear complexion. You don't need to cover it up.”

“But… I was just… trying to look my best,” cried Millie. Literally cried, tears welling over in her eyes. If she'd known Christopher was going to be so rude and hateful she'd never have invited him.

“Oh, for pity's sake, don't cry!” begged Christopher, whipping out a handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes and cheeks.

“You said I looked ghastly! And I was only trying to dress suitably for Christmas.”

“You are, if you're trying to be an ornament on the tree.”

“You've ruined everything!” cried Millie, turning away.

“No, no, don't say that!” He took her gently by the hand and moved to face her. “We can fix it – you'll see.” He smiled. “Come now. You look pretty now that all of that face paint is off.”

“No I don't. I look ordinary.”

“Better an ordinary person than an animated idol,” said Christopher frankly. “You're not the Living Asheth anymore, Millie.”

“I know that!”

“Then don't dress like you are,” he said practically. “Now then, let's go up to your room and find a more appropriate gown.”

“This is the only one I have,” protested Millie.

“Really? I thought you and your friends just went shopping.”

“Yes, and this is the gown I purchased.”

Christopher looked fascinated. “You went shopping and bought only one dress? Amazing.”

“So if you don't want to be seen with me you can go now.” She flapped one golden-gloved hand at him.

“Nonsense. We'll just go out and get you another gown.” Christopher tucked her arm under his and with his free hand made an expansive gesture about the both of them, murmuring an incantation. With a final snap of his fingers they appeared in a fashionable Parisian street. “Now to find…” he said, looking around. “Ah, there we are.” He led them briskly into a dressmaker's shop, one of several open late for the holiday trade.

“Let us see your ball gowns suitable for fashionable young ladies, please,” Christopher said in his snooty, commanding fashion. Also speaking fluently in French. Whatever the shop assistant may have first thought upon seeing them, apparently Christopher's manner was the correct one, because she instantly turned to their selection of gowns, pulling several out she thought would look well on Millie.

Before Millie could evaluate any of them, Christopher tossed them about, discarding several immediately and selecting only a few for consideration.

Christopher himself was wearing a white suit - no, it was a very light blue, like ice, trimmed in silver on the lapels, pockets, and hems. His shirt was a blue just a shade darker and his tie deeper still, a pale cerulean striped with silver. His pocket square was a matching blue, hemmed in silver. It was all amazingly elegant and he looked enormously handsome, with his tall, slim frame and his contrasting dark colouring.

For a moment Millie thought they should match – her gold switched to silver. But no, she realised, silver would wash out her ordinary, mousey colouring, and she was her own person – no need for them to match.

Christopher finally fixed upon a blue gown, a darker shade than his tie, and layered it with a gold lace overdress upon Millie’s demand. She could then keep her gold gloves and sandals, which she had purchased earlier for their practicality in dancing.

Millie had wanted a warmer dress, but Christopher had said no, that she’d get too hot in the press of people at the ball and in dancing.

“But I’m always so cold!” she protested.

“That’s what a wrap is for.” Not the practical wool coat de Witt had provided. Something fashionable.

“But warm,” insisted Millie.

Christopher smiled. “Of course.” They decided upon a blue silk cape lined in a soft silver-white fur. With it buttoned securely closed at the top, the fur collar circled her neck snugly, keeping her quite warm indeed. 

After making their purchases, Christopher teleported them both back to Millie’s room. He assisted with applying the (minimal) amount of makeup she required. “If you weren’t pretty before, you will be once I’m done,” he assured her.

He tipped her face up so he could see what he was doing, but the light wasn’t good and Millie winced as if her neck hurt. “You’re too short,” he said.

“You’re too tall!” Millie retorted. “You keep growing.”

Christopher ignored this, turning her as he swooped to sit in the chair at her vanity. But now Millie had to look down, also ruining the light, and his own head turned uncomfortably up. “This chair is too short,” he complained.

“You’re never happy,” griped Millie.

“Au contraire, Mademoiselle Millie,” said Christopher. “I am always happy when I am with you.” With a gesture and a fingersnap he raised the chair until his face was level with hers. He smiled. “Much better.” 

He peered intently at her, concentrating on his efforts. Millie felt herself go pink under his scrutiny. 

“No need to be embarrassed,” he said mildly.

“I’m not!” she replied. To distract herself, she asked, “How did you learn to make up ladies’ faces, anyway?”

“Shush, no talking. This is delicate work. I was often present when my mother was dressing to go out into Society,” he answered absently. “It was the main time we talked. Well,” he added. “She talked, I listened.”

“And watched,” Millie murmured through immobile lips.

“Yes. My mother is very beautiful.”

“Do you have to be beautiful to go into Society?”

Christopher smiled wryly. “It helps.”

Millie considered for a while. “Is it a good thing to go into?”

He laughed. “I wasn’t so sure when I was a child. But Chrestomanci is always a Society figure.”

She was confused. “What does that have to do with me?”

Christopher was rather taken aback, but covered with a distracted air. “Well, you’ll be with me, presumably,” he said vaguely.

It was just as she and Grant had talked about, back in Series Seven. “You presume an awful lot, Christopher.”

“I searched for you across the Twelve Series and you won’t even stay by my side when I’m Chrestomanci?” He covered his actual hurt with a put-upon air of faux-hurt.

“I might lead a life of my own,” Millie said airily.

“But –” Christopher flailed a moment. “Chrestomanci always has such grand adventures. Don’t you want adventures?”

“I expect I can find my own adventures. I might not have nine lives but I am an enchantress, you know.”

“Yes, of course.” Christopher had lost his earnest look and retreated into vagueness, as if none of it mattered.

She’d had no idea he’d felt so strongly. She knew he’d felt  _ responsible _ for her but not that he really  _ liked _ her. She hadn’t always been very nice to him after all. Really, what did he expect? That she’d mooch about the Castle like some hanger-on her whole life? What was she to do there besides be the recipient of Christopher’s high-handed arrangements?

To cover her confusion she switched the subject. “Why did your mother want be in Society?”

“For the power and influence, I suppose. Money comes and goes, but if you have friends in Society, you won’t end up alone.”

“Did that work for your mother?”

“I guess so. Even though my uncle Ralph – her brother – was guilty of numerous crimes, my mother is still visited by her friends.” He smiled vaguely. “Even the Emperor of Japan is willing to acknowledge her.”

“I can make friends,” said Millie. 

“I can’t,” Christopher almost said, but stopped himself. He thought about it. He’d made friends with Flemming and Oneir, but hadn’t kept in touch. Then there was Mordecai – Christopher had been a good friend to him, he felt. And Grant. He decided the quantity of friends didn’t matter as much as the quality.

He finished the delicate application of mascara, perfectly even, no vulgar clumping. With the hand holding her chin he turned her head this way and that. “Gorgeous!” he proclaimed, grinning.

Millie had an impulse to smack his smug self, but she was grinning too widely herself to follow through. She led him through the hallways to the entrance hall, where they grandly swept down the grand stairs, arm-in-arm. No-one was watching them, of course, but it never hurt to practise one’s grand entrances.

When they finally arrived – fashionably late – at the doorway to the ballroom, Christopher looked down at Millie as they were announced: “Lady Millie de Witt and escort, Mr Christopher Chant.” She had a slightly stupid expression on her face, like the one on the idol of Asheth, but he saw through that mask to the real Millie. She truly was beautiful, he thought. Not the least bit ordinary. Magnificent, in fact.


End file.
